


Out of Gas and Riding on Air

by averita



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For weeks, she’s been desperate to get this trial over with, to send Gaius Baltar through an airlock and move on with the rest of the fleet. She still is, but now there’s a new battle to fight, and part of her is ready to lay down her arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Gas and Riding on Air

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 adama_roslin Secret Santa exchange on LJ. Title comes from "One Big Love" by Patty Griffin.

It had been too much to hope for, Laura figures, as Bill orders the entire fleet searched. She’s been so focused on the trial that everything else has been pushed to the side. The Cylons aren’t so easily distracted. They don’t care about this trial or about Gaius Baltar – at least, most of them don’t, and that’s a place to start.

“I think that we should ask the Six,” she says. “She may be willing to help.”

Tigh looks at her disbelievingly. “Baltar’s girlfriend?” he snorts. “Why would she do that?”

Irritation flashes through her, hot, sudden, and unwelcome. She swallows it down. “Because,” she explains, fighting to keep the condescension out of her voice, “she does not want to see Hera go back to the Cylons.”

“You think that thing would stick her neck out for some half-Cylon whelp?”

 _Those dreams again._ It’s easier, this time, to accept that there’s truth in them; easier, now that she’s dying again, and all that she had thought was coincidence might once more be destiny. “I have a feeling she’d lay her life down for it,” she says quietly, remembering the reverence in the Cylon woman’s eyes as she’d picked up the child.

“A feeling.”

Bill doesn’t believe her. Over time he’s come to trust her - with his life, with the lives of his son and crew and the entire fleet - but sometimes she wonders if he’ll ever _believe_ in her. This time she can’t hide her frustration as she snaps, “It’s more than a feeling, all right? Why don’t – just do it!” Glaring at him for a moment longer, she tries to ignore the surprise Tigh and Lee aren’t hiding very well and the growing throbbing in her head. Struggling to keep her voice level, she adds, “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” before stalking off.

The darkness in the Damage Control room is welcome. Laura lets a long breath out through her nose and pinches the bridge of her nose. For weeks, she’s been desperate to get this trial over with, to send Gaius Baltar through an airlock and move on with the rest of the fleet. She still is, but now there’s a new battle to fight, and part of her is ready to lay down her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly as soon as Bill joins her in the Damage Control room. Running a restless hand through her hair, she shakes her head and blinks away the blurry vision. “It’s this frakking Chamalla, it’s like I’m not even in my own head.”

Bill moves closer, rests a hand on her arm. “You’re still not sleeping well?” His voice is mild but his eyes have been following her all day, and she’d have to be blind to not see the fear in them. She feels the last of the annoyance melt away as she covers his hand with her own and squeezes his fingers, letting her own tired eyes answer him.

He may not believe in her, she thinks, but he trusts her nonetheless. That’s something. More than that, he supports her, and over the years she’s come to realize how critical that support is, not only to the smooth governance of the fleet but to her own life.

 _Earlier that week, she sat down with Bill and quietly informed him that her cancer had returned. “Last time I did this without you,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice level. “I’d rather not this time.”_

 _When he finally turned to meet her gaze, she found herself struggling to keep it. He reached for her and she let her eyes fall closed, sucking in a sharp breath at the press of his forehead against hers, the scratch of his uniform under her fingers._

 _“You won’t have to,” he murmured, breath warm on her face, and she nodded against him._

“Laura?”

She starts slightly, refocusing and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. “Sorry,” she apologizes again, a vague smile twitching over her lips. “I was drifting. Were you saying something?”

A shadow flickers over his face, settling into the creases of his skin. “There are still a few hours before the trial starts,” he says. “You should try to get some rest.”

She’s going to be hearing that a lot in the coming weeks, she knows. She also knows that she’s going to get tired of it, and quickly. It would be better to try and break him of the habit now, but the pressure building behind her eyes is rapidly making it harder to keep upright. When she nods she tries not to move her head too much.

Bill’s shift is nearly over; he excuses himself and guides her to his quarters with a hand on her back. _Their_ quarters, she supposes, and allows herself the small thrill that flutters through her. She’s not convinced they’ll be able to keep it up, and she’s not willing to risk officially moving in until after the trial, but these past few days she’s already begun taking advantage of the space she’s been offered, as she’s doing now.

“Diloxin’s going to be a walk in the park compared to this trial,” Laura muses wryly as they step through the hatch. A glance at Bill tells her that it’s probably too early to be joking about this; his jaw clenches and he stares straight ahead. She nudges him and smiles when he meets her eye, not looking away until he finally grins back at her.

She settles into his rack, folding her jacket over a chair and placing her glasses on the shelf above the pillow before curling under the blankets and watching Bill as he pours a glass of water and ducks into the head. When he returns he’s holding two painkillers, which he offers to her without a word; she accepts them gratefully, swallowing half the water in one sip.

“Get some rest,” he says again, thickly. His eyes are glazed with tears, and he clears his throat, looking away for a moment before offering a slight smile. “Then we’ll go nail Baltar’s ass to the ground.”

Laura chuckles, closing her eyes and inhaling the vaguely spicy scent of his pillow. When she sleeps she has that dream again.

***

She doesn’t dream or even sleep when she falls into bed that night, instead restlessly replaying the events of the day in her head, indulging in the depths of anger and betrayal to keep the stronger feelings of heartache at bay. It isn’t hard. Remembering the defiant superiority in Lee’s eyes, the furious catch in Bill’s voice – it sets her blood to boiling, knots her stomach like yarn.

It should be a relief to get off Colonial One in the morning, away from the press and from Tory, who has been increasingly skittish since the trial began; still, on the shuttle to Galactica, Laura finds herself struggling to focus on anything but the fear rising in her throat.

 _“You going to fight it this time?” Cottle asked, reaching into his lab coat for another cigarette and frowning._

 _Laura didn’t look away from the test results she had just been handed. “With Diloxin?” she replied flatly. Her hands were shaking; she gripped the papers more tightly in an effort to make them stop._

 _“You know damned well that you got lucky last time,” the doctor groused. Laura tried to ignore the anxiety coloring his words. “We caught this early. You have a shot if we start treatment right away.”_

 _She finally looked up. “Diloxin,” she said again, and shook her head slowly. “No. Not now.”  
Raising a hand against the worried outrage on Cottle’s face, she continued, “Jack, I can’t think about this right now. We’ll talk when the trial is over.” _

_They didn’t speak again until she stormed into Life Station a week later, a crowd of reporters held back at the hatch by several Marines. “When can you get me started?” she demanded, lips pressed tightly together to hide their quivering._

 _“0800 tomorrow,” Cottle replied, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were shining, and she closed them tightly. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way,” he added quietly, “but I’m not sorry it got you here.”_

That was yesterday. As the shuttle lightly touches down on Galactica’s deck, not even the memory of begging Lee Adama for mercy is enough to overshadow that of her mother, weak and weeping, a needle in the crook of her elbow.

Saul Tigh is waiting for her; he offers her an arm as she disembarks, and she takes it with no small amount of surprise. “Colonel,” she acknowledges.

“Bill asked me to come get you,” he says abruptly. “He’s finishing up a meeting.”

Laura nods, not sure how to react to the man leading her from the Hangar Bay. She hasn’t forgiven him for his turn on the stand; appearing drunk as a critical witness in front of the entire fleet had done little to endear him to her. Since then she’s barely had time to dwell on what he revealed up there; she hadn’t exactly mourned Ellen Tigh, but she’d been sorry to hear of her death nonetheless, and this twist was difficult to fathom. On New Caprica she had spent some time with the woman, and while she’d never been able to comprehend just what the two saw in each other, they’d obviously loved each other very much.

“Guess things aren’t going like they’re supposed to,” he mumbles as they continue through the corridors. She thinks that this is supposed to be an apology.

“Not exactly,” she agrees, pasting a smile across her face. “Still, I have full confidence that the jury will make the right decision.”

Saul snorts. “Cut the crap. Only one of them was on the planet with us. All they know is what that maniac lawyer is spouting, and you and I haven’t exactly done the prosecution any favors.”

Laura purses her lips. “No,” she says. “I suppose we haven’t.” She retracts her arm from his; he doesn’t seem to notice.

They’re nearing Bill’s quarters. “Thank you, Colonel,” she murmurs. “I’m sure that you have better things to be doing right now, I can take it from here.”

“All right then,” he says distractedly. She frowns as he stalks away, muttering to himself.  
Bill’s on the phone when she steps through the hatch. He gives her a smile, holding up a finger and gesturing for her to sit down.

He looks tired, she thinks as she settles into the soft leather of the couch. He probably didn’t get much sleep either. As betrayed as she feels by Lee – her Captain Apollo – she knows that hurting her was simply a way for him to hurt Bill, and it succeeded, far more than she thinks (and certainly hopes) he’d anticipated. But then, to mean so little to him as to be regarded as a mere pawn – there’s a different kind of hurt in that.

“Hey,” Bill greets her as soon as he hangs up. “Sorry about that.” He stands, making his way over to the couch and sitting down next to her. “How are you doing?”

“Nervous,” she admits, trying to smile. “Ready to get it over with.”

He’d offered to come with her to this first treatment, but she’d refused, insisting that he needed to focus on the trial. She was sure he didn’t buy it, but he hadn’t pressed, probably figured that she needed to get through it on her own – whatever the case, she was grateful.

“Thank you for yelling at me this morning,” she says, touching her shoulder to his. “I needed that.”

Bill laughs, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer. “Anytime, Roslin,” he assures her, pressing a kiss to her hair. She hums, leaning into him and tucking her feet up under her.

Laura believes in miracles. She’s seen them. She doesn’t expect them, though, and knows that this is probably one of the last moments she’ll ever have not dulled by the poison she’s about to be injected with. It’s this thought that makes her try to memorize this moment: the steady feel of his breathing; the dusky light of the lamps; the fluttering in her stomach, finally from something other than fear or fury.

It’s this thought that convinces her to look up after several quiet minutes and turn towards Bill; she touches his face, tracing the corners of his lips. He presses his forehead to hers, as he did less than a week ago on this same couch. This time she kisses him, wanting this one more time before everything changes.

They’ve only kissed a few times. Back when she was dying the first time, and then when she didn’t; when she left for New Caprica and when she returned; she wishes they’d taken more chances, because now they’re running out.

Her hands leave his face - one moving down to rest over his heart, the other settling against the back of his neck, nails gently scraping the skin there. He sighs, clutching her; she opens her mouth to him and kisses him more urgently, trying to focus on the quiver in her belly rather than the lump in her throat.

She finally pulls back for air, eyes closed and breathing hard. Bill’s hands cup her cheeks, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin under her lids. When she looks at him he’s smiling that smile, the bright, boyish smile that melts her insides a little bit; she tilts her head into his hands and can’t help but grin back when he tucks her hair back behind her ears.

Her appointment starts in 20 minutes.


End file.
